The Hunt
by Predominantly Normal
Summary: Ness was scared. Ness was terrified. And for the first time in his life, Ness was lost. But strangely, with Lucas besides him, Ness couldn't find a single reason to be upset. [High School AU] [NessCas]
1. Hour Zero

**I DO NOT OWN EARTHBOUND**

 **Hello! I'm back. Maybe. Possibly. Depends on how well my motivation and diligence work together. In any case, I figure that since I've really only ever taken to writing indie high school AU's, I should probably just embrace it. I mean, that's what John Hughes did.**

 **Anyways, this entire story will take place in Ness' point of view. It's a cheap little high school AU. And like all cheap high school AU's, it comes with a few risky lines of prose. So for your benefit:**

 **CONTENT WARNINGS: Swearing, References to Sex/Porn, References to Alcoholism.**

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Ness' Really Long and Pointless Exposition

Although I have a near limitless supply of thinking time these days, I always find myself coming back to the same simple wonder:

It's so crazy how fragile life is.

I'm not talking about mortality. No, that's an entirely different novel in itself. I'm talking about life on the individual scope. Life as it truly is: a cluster of experiences and events all slapped together on one big, convoluted timeline. Because my life is- or rather, _was_ \- perfect.

See, leaving my last year of high school, I was lucky enough to be one of the few kids who actually felt _okay_ about this whole "growing up" thing. I'm not saying I was like, excited to need Viagra every time I wanted to relieve some stress, but I had no quarrel with the way my life was going. In fact, up until the last day of senior year, my life had been going just about perfectly according to plan.

I should probably confess that I'm the kind of person the pitifully unorganized tend to call a 'control freak'. And unfortunately, I'm obliged to agree with them.

I'm not saying I can't handle having my plans rained out or something. I'm also not saying that everything always has to go my way 100% of the time. All I'm trying to get across here is that I find security in the expected. And if something doesn't go my way, I'd like to know the exact consequences I would face for that outcome.

I'm not a complicated guy; I like plans, and I like set-ups, and I _especially_ like when I'm the one orchestrating them.

Even my summer (which to any _normal_ clueless senior would've been a sprawling vastness of infinite opportunities) was heavily structured. My three months of relative freedom would be dedicated to conditioning for the upcoming college baseball season so that I could take my promised position of substitute pitcher for the Cornell Big Reds during the upcoming year. In between, I'd probably attend some obligatory social events, do some lifeguarding for extra cash, and spend some time with my friends.

After summer, I'd go study law at Cornell. I'd get my license and pass the Bar Exam, and then I'd walk out of college with a decent job already lined up for me with my Dad's business as part of his legal team.

And as according to status quo, I'd find someone nice to marry, and settle down with my spouse, two kids, and our dog (preferably of a conventional breed, like a Labrador). And we'd all live out the remainders of our mundane lives behind our fishbowl of a picket fence.

That was the big plan for my life- the one I'd been setting up since middle school. I know it's not exactly heroic or worthy of an epic or anything else like that (to be honest, it's probably adequately boring enough to insert a drinking problem in at any point of its course), but believe me when I say that I know white suburbanites who would cream their pants over a life like that.

And more importantly, _I_ was happy with it. It was predictable, and safe, and it was everything I'd ever dared to want for myself. It wasn't an easy road by any means, but it was a road I'd never get lost on so long as I followed the map.

And let's be fair- it's not like I haven't had my fair share of privileges to help me along.

For one, I've always been decently handsome and well-spoken, so at least on a social level, the favor of my peers and superiors has always leaned in my favor (don't let your mom's feel-good speeches mislead you- looks really _are_ everything sometimes). And on top of that, I'm athletic and I hang around Ninten Itoi, which has earned me a nice staked claim at the top of my school's social hierarchy.

I think the only thing that kept me from being the model poster-child for white bred douche-bags who end up peaking in high school was my astonishing lack of a partner.

Don't get me wrong- it's not like girls don't like me. I've gotten quite a few admirers to exploit for Instagram likes. Hell, I've even had a handful of guys tell me that I bend them. (I've gotten more unsolicited dick-pics than our school's cheerleading captain. That's what I get for being my school's favorite bisexual. Seriously, do you know how tiring it is to be the only openly bi and ambidextrous guy on the baseball team? I've heard the "Wow, Ness really swings both ways!" joke so much, it's almost as unfunny as a Seth McFarlane cutaway gag).

So the problem there wasn't with me. Or rather, it _was_ , but it wasn't with me being unattractive or flawed to the point of being un-dateable. Instead, the problem lied in my inability to find any one person captivating enough to make me _want_ to involve myself with them.

See, despite my popularity and the way I have with words, I'm not much a people-person. It may sound pretentious, but I actually prefer reading books over having conversations. And I think it's because words, not unlike love or kindness or blowjobs, just happen to be one of those things that are easier to take in than to give out.

But I'm off-topic. Because the whole point of this really long exposition was to mainly accomplish two things. Listed for the reader's convenience:

WHAT NESS' REALLY LONG (AND KIND OF POINTLESS) EXPOSITION NEEDS TO ACCOMPLISH

1.) Show the reader how sparkly and meticulously planned Ness' life is.

2.) Really put into perspective how completely and totally Ness fucked up that perfectly good life in the course of twelve hours.

So if you're wondering, that's what I was marveling about before I went on this whole tangent. How fragile life's course can be. And that's why I should've been terrified as I walked out the doors on my last day of school. Because investing any personal security in something that can be ruined in twelve hours is just one disillusioned swing short of suicide.

And if you're reading this and wondering how on earth I could stretch the course of twelve measly houses into an entire novel… well, firstly you should be warned that I narrate in the same manner that a Gatling-Gun fires its rounds.

And secondly- I envy you. I envy you, and your boring life. I envy every sorry loser who's ever gotten their biggest kicks watching pay-per-view porn on the living room television while their parents were away.

Frankly, I wish I had the honor of being you; even if you got caught, and had to explain to your parents in a _very_ awkward sit-down-conversation why you were watching _"21 Hump Street"_ with your pants at your ankles, and your bare ass on the nice leather.

Because believe me- it's not like I'm dying to tell this story to my future kids around the hearth. Hell, the only reason I'm even talking about this now is because there should be some plausible explanation as to why I'm stuck in prison for the next two years of my life.

So I guess after wasting over one-thousand words on this stupid prologue, I owe it to you to jump right into the story.

So let's begin. The first hour of my downfall starts promptly at 2:15 PM, at the exact moment that the last school bell of the year set me free.


	2. I Need A Better Fake ID

**Here we go! I've been a little preoccupied with my new job to properly work on this, but I managed to scap it together. I keep worrying about making shit, you know- _good-_ , and I really gotta chill and remind myself that I'm just writing for fun here.**

 **Content Warnings: Swearing, Depictions of Asexuality, References to Date-Rape Drugs, References to Eating Disorders, References to Sex, Underage Drinking, Alcohol, Depictions of Bisexuality, References to Violence.**

* * *

I Need A Better Fake ID

We free ourselves of our Scantron shackles, and make away from our cells like successful bank-robbers.

Like most summertime epics, this story begins on the last day of school.

I walk- not run- through the halls like a villain on parole, peering into the empty classrooms as I make my way to the front entrance. I could lie and say that I was simply looking out of absent curiosity, but I like to consider myself a good, honest man.

The truth is- I didn't know what his last period class was. And I thought it might be nice to see him one last time.

(Look, I said I was _honest_ man. Nowhere did I mention any restrictions against being _vague.)_

I stop looking in classrooms when I catch sight of Ninten Itoi. He isn't the person I'm looking for, but I'm glad to see him nonetheless.

Let me pause before things get too gripping to inform you that Ninten is my best friend- and has been my best friend since freshman year. He's the only man alive who can humble me, and I'm the only man alive who finds his pretentious sense of humor tolerable.

Unpause. Ninten smiles when he sees me, and pockets his cell phone (which is undoubtedly already exploding with messages).

"How was your last final?" Ninten asks.

"Exhilarating," I say back with a well-placed roll of my eyes.

"Brighten up, why don't you? It's our last day of senior year, man! We're finally _free_ of this standardized hellscape."

"What do you want me to do? Break out into song?"

"Ness, the sun is hot, the air is clean, and the Boca Loca's is offering a killer two-for-one special. If you could sing any better than a dying cat, I would be finding concern in your lack of musical enthusiasm."

Okay, pause again for another quick fact about Ninten: he's a drama kid. Like, a _played-Tony-in-our-school's-production-of-West-Side-Story-his-freshman-year_ drama kid. Basically, he intonates his speech as if every word before a punctuation mark should be _italicized_.

But anyways-

"I'm not buying you a burrito," I say.

"A burrito," Ninten scoffs back as if I'm crazy or something. "I'll have you know that I intend to take the full benefit of that deal, Ness, and nothing shorter."

I shoot Ninten a concerned glance. "Dude, please don't."

Ninten sighs, "Ness, I've been over it for a while now. Chill, okay?"

"I'll chill when you stop being a dumbass," I shoot back.

Look, I'm not usually such a snarky jerk, I promise. Most of my bad attitude was actually just a result of Jeremy Crosswright and his stupid party.

Basically, Jeremy's parents are loaded. And for some reason, despite having enough money to buy out half of our upper-middleclass town, they never learned how to buy birth control. Jeremy happens to be the youngest of the seven Crosswright boys, and therefore, he will be the last one to host their legendary senior party.

Every year, it gets bigger and better. And this year is expected to be straight-legendary, because it's going to be the first year in which the Crosswright party will be completely unsupervised. Apparently, Jeremy's parents took off on a surprise trip to Malibu. I guess after six years of moderating wild parties, they decided to save themselves the headache.

The news had even managed to excite me for a short time.

Like, I'm not a huge partier or anything, but I've got a social presence to live up to, so I might as well go along with it.

Unfortunately, Ninten and I both got put on stock duty to supply Jeremy's party with the best selection of cheap alcohol on the market.

But that wasn't why I was so irritated with every person who had the sheer audacity to breathe in my general radius. I was upset because of the blacklist.

See, Jeremy's parties are kind of legendary because they're open-invitation; meaning everyone who catches wind of it through social media is allowed to be there. This even includes the juniors and sophomores. He's the type of dude who will do _anything_ for a big crowd (seriously- at his last party, he let his cheating ex-girlfriend in _along with the guy she was cheating on him with)._

This time around wasn't too different. I'd seen Jeremy's blacklist myself- and it was just about three bullet-points long.

 _JEREMY CROSSWRIGHT'S PARTY BLACKLIST:_

 _-Freshmen_

 _-Claus Eastwood_

 _-Lucas Eastwood_

 _If you see any one of the aforementioned, full rights are granted to use the offender as a living target for a game of crotch-shot. In such a case, I (Jeremy Crosswright), will provide the golf balls, clubs, and kitchenware necessary._

Look, it's not like I _wanted_ freshmen to ask me whether there was a cooler for non-alcoholic drinks all night, and it's not like I _wanted_ Claus Eastwood around to party-crash and call the cops, but Lucas was actually a pretty nice dude, okay?

I mean, I'd never personally talked to him or anything- I'm just saying that he _seemed_ like a nice dude. And he definitely didn't deserve to become a social disease just because his twin brother happened to have a fetish for tattling. That's all I'm trying to get across here.

I express my distaste about this to Ninten, who only rolls his eyes.

"You're just butthurt because you won't get the chance to take advantage of him drunk," Ninten says.

"I am _not."_

"Chill, dude. I'd be mad too if my last chance to hookup with the love of my life got screwed because of some rich kid's blacklist," Ninten says, holding his hands up defensively.

"Shut up."

"You're bright red, Ness," he laughs.

"Shut _up_ ," I groan again, adjusting the brim of my hat to better cover my Strawberry Shortcake-esque cheeks.

A group of girls walk by. They're our basketball team's cheerleaders (meaning they're not quite conventionally attractive enough to be the football team's cheerleaders, but aren't homely enough to cheer for, like, the tennis team). They giggle like idiots, and throw Ninten eyes, and they all ask him if he's going to Jeremy's party.

Ninten laughs off the attention and assures them that he'll be there with a dismissive wave.

"You don't get to patronize me," I whine. "You don't even _like_ people. This is all so easy for you."

"Ah yes," Ninten says almost bitterly, "The perks of asexuality. I get to disappoint girls."

Another girl interrupts our path to my car. She's a busty redhead with a pretty face and a sundress. I had a brief crush on her last year, but nothing really came of it. Her name is Jeanie.

Jeanie twirls a lock of hair around her finger and giggles like she's sky high. And just when I think things can't get more cringe-worthy, she asks Ninten if he wants to spend a few days up at her parent's cabin in Key West _alone_.

Of course, I might as well be a ghost to her.

I'm not going to act like I'm not jealous of Ninten's ability to attract people. But sometimes I think the only reason everyone's so crazy about him rests in the fact that he doesn't _want_ anybody. I think girls like Jeanie see him as a personal challenge.

Like, _"Look, I got the guy who can't get it up to bone_ me _! I must be like, a sex god(dess) or something!"._

Still, I guess it doesn't help that he's pretty much the most attractive guy at our school. He's this six-foot-four Japanese-American dude with long hair and a bandana he wears around his neck unironically. He's the kind of athlete Ivy-League schools keep on speed-dial, and he knows how to play all the open chords on an acoustic guitar. He's the kind of thing YA-Romance-Novel-dreams are made of.

(Honestly, I feel kind of self-conscious whenever I size myself up with him. I'm five-foot-six, pale as a picket fence, and I've had the same haircut since sixth grade. Compared to Ninten, I pretty much look like Gollum from _The Lord of the Rings_.)

I book it to my car before I can listen to Jeanie make a bigger fool of herself in front of Ninten (or worse, feel jealous that she's not making a bigger fool of herself in front of _me)_. Ninten follows behind quickly, buckling himself into the passenger's seat.

"She's intensely annoying." Ninten huffs. "I know she's in Fletcher's AP class. She doesn't have to ask me what 'ostentatious' means."

"Are you going to Key West, though?" I ask, raising a brow.

"Are you serious? If I coughed once, she'd take it as an excuse to slip Nyquil in my drink," Ninten says. "Girls are insane."

"I can't believe the entire school doesn't think you're gay."

"That's probably a good thing," Ninten shudders, "Guys are _way_ more forward."

I laugh.

I peel out of the parking lot, and head in the opposite direction of all the popular liquor stores. To Ninten's knowledge, there are at least seven other teenagers buying for the party, and frankly, a bunch of teenagers walking in and out to buy multiple cases of Bud Lite is shady as hell.

Most of them, like us, are guys who play for the off-season athletics. It's because we're all muscular enough to look older, but we aren't being forced to shave like the kids playing the in-season sports, so a lot of us actually have enough stubble to pass for 21.

We park at a little place called _Flint's_ and get out. The sun's beating down on us relentlessly, and I'm already telling Ninten to look serious.

See, the guy makes me laugh, and frankly, when I smile, I look younger.

We walk in and go straight for the beer like it's practically destined to poison our digestive systems. I pick out a cheap pack of thirty-six Blue Moons, and start towards the register to ring out.

And that's kind of the exact moment my heart stops.

Because right there in front of me, looking bored and perfect, is Lucas Eastwood.

He's running his fingernails against the counter. It doesn't look as if he's noticed me yet. He's too preoccupied with scrolling down a social media site on the cell phone he has partially hidden behind the register.

I try not to get caught up in the way he snickers to himself as he tries to discreetly read a funny post.

Ninten follows my eyes. "Don't do it. We can go somewhere else," he whispers.

Of course, I ignore him. I steel myself and walk up to the counter.

"H-hey," I say, choking on my single-word greeting like a complete dumbass (I start to think that I should give girls like Jeanie more credit). I clear my throat. "Hey," I say again, but this time deeper.

My face burns up like I've got a bad fever, and I can't help but smile until I look 15 again.

Lucas jolts for a moment before looking up at me. He's got big blue doe-eyes. It's the first time I've ever gotten such a close look at them, and I think they're my new favorite color.

"Uh, you know you've got to be at least 21 to purchase that," Lucas says. He speaks in a connected series of mumbles, and he kind of says his "s" noises with his tongue caught in his teeth.

"I uh… Yeah, I know that. Yeah." I pull out a fake ID and hold it out.

Lucas raises an eyebrow. "With all due respect, _Marcus DiAngelo_ ," he says with a weak laugh, "You're too smart to have been held back…-" he pauses to read my fraudulent birthday, "-four grades."

"Kindergarten was hell," I blurt out. "I had a social disorder-,"

"-Which you apparently did not grow _out_ of," Ninten cuts in. He's smiling cheekily, because he knows he's never going to let me live down this moment, and there's not a thing on this damned earth I can do to stop him.

He greets Lucas with a smile so perfect, it ought to be trademarked. Usually, I'd be thankful for the bail-out, but instead I'm actually kind of miffed.

"I mean…" Lucas looks away, and now _he's_ red. I grit my teeth. Of- _fucking_ -course he's red.

"It's not for us," Ninten assures. "It's for the Crosswright's."

"Oh, it's for that party, isn't it?" Lucas frowns. He runs his fingers along the edges of the alcohol's packaging.

"Indeed it is," Ninten nods.

"Yeah," I blurt out. "We're kind of, you know, in Jeremy's circle, so we're like, obligated to help out."

Ninten elbows me hard in the ribs. I try to pretend like it doesn't hurt. I send him a scowl, and as the ultimate form of payback- I keep talking.

"Sucks you're working. You should go," I say.

Ninten's eyes widen, and he gives me the special look he usually reserves for when Rom-Com protagonists do something stupid in the name of love. He told me once that because of his asexuality, he gets a pretty objective scope of how fucking crazy sexual attraction can make people. And right now, he's looking at me like I'm about to make the biggest mistake of my young, hot life.

I'll bet you've guessed by now that Ninten is usually right. I bet you've also guessed that this particular instance is no exception to that rule.

"You should come with us, actually," I amend, because Lucas is kind of looking at me like I've grown another head.

"You know I'm blacklisted, right?" Lucas asks, his tone full of sharp edges. "I mean, it's not like I care. I'm not too interested parties anyways. But even if I did want to go, I wouldn't be able to."

"I mean, Ninten and I don't like parties much either," I say. "You should go with us. We could probably pull some strings or something."

Ninten furrows his brow and glares at me like he's trying to telepathically snap my neck. "Ness, I don't think Jeremy-,"

"Fuck Jeremy," I interject. "He owes you anyways for helping him cheat on his algebra exams."

Ninten looks downright murderous right now. For some reason, the store feels ten degrees colder. "Ness-,"

"Look! You don't have to invite me, okay? I'll just ring out your beer, so you can stop pretending to like me, and go on your way," Lucas grumbles.

"I'm not patronizing you," I frown. "I really think you should go. I mean, it's the last party of our senior year. Everyone's going to be there."

"Do you really peg me as someone who cares about his social reputation?" Lucas asks. Venom drips from his tone like it's a faucet leak. This is kind of a pivotal moment, because I can tell that saying the wrong thing here will get our asses kicked out of the store without a single drop of Blue Moon to show for it.

I pause. And then I speak. "I peg you as someone who cares about not being left out," I say. I don't smile like Ninten does when he's trying to win someone over. In fact, I don't make any particular expression at all. I just stare into his eyes with stone-cold determination.

And it seems to work. Lucas drops his shoulders, and the tense atmosphere starts to fade. Even Ninten has stopped glaring at me to instead observe the scene with a newfound muted interest.

Lucas seems to roll it over in his head for a moment. "I'm working," he says, finally settling on his answer like cream on the surface of unprocessed milk.

"Just say you don't feel well," I press, feeling a little more confident. "Come on, Lucas. Don't be a girl."

Lucas snaps his eyes in my direction, and I suddenly feel like I've made a fatal mistake. He has a scowl at least twenty-times scarier than Ninten's, and I'm the unfortunate target of choice. "I'm not a girl," Lucas says in a low, mean voice that rivals the likes of fantasy antagonists everywhere.

Lucas rings out the beer in silence, and Ninten pays. I'm suddenly captivated with the Beach Boys' song playing over the convenience store's PA. As soon as Lucas gives Ninten his receipt, he excuses himself from the counter.

Ninten and I exchange a long, nervous glance as we hear the muffled sound of someone losing their lunch.

We hurry outside with all the frantic awkwardness of someone who'd accidentally gone into the wrong bathroom. Ninten stuffs the beer in the trunk.

"You're pissed at me," I say.

"Are you serious? Yes, I'm pissed at you!" Ninten snaps. "Fucking… you can't keep it in your pants for ten- _ten_ \- minutes! How am I supposed to feel?"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? I just couldn't-,"

"You couldn't control yourself. Yeah, yeah, whatever," Ninten finishes for me. "Just be thankful that Lucas is a good kid who-,"

It's at this moment of perfect comedic timing that Lucas emerges from the glass doors of the liquor store wiping his lips. "I think I'm sick. Would you guys mind taking me home?"

Ninten pinches the bridge of his nose. "The universe, in all its mysteries, is predictable in one thing: spiting my sorry fucking existence." Without so much as another glance, he packs himself into the passenger's seat.

So let's pretend right now that this is the guided tour bus ride of my life. And if you'd kindly direct your attention to the next sentence, you'll be able to see the great monument that is me pushing over the first domino in an escalating chain of _really bad decisions_.

"Yeah," I say, dumbstruck, "I can give you a ride."

And I'm pretty sure there were a bunch of warning signs lighting up everywhere in front of me, but none of that really mattered right then. Mind not that this guy just Marty McFly'd himself into a minor bulimic episode- the love of my young hormonal life is getting into _my_ car, and all is right in the world.

"I've got some mints if you want them, too," I add quickly.

Lucas smiles, and if I wasn't totally stuck a minute ago, I'm currently drowning in a sea of Elmer's glue. He smiles, and nods.

"Sounds wonderful."

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 **Thank you to everyone who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed! It means the world!**


	3. He's All That

**CONTENT WARNINGS: Swearing, References to Eating Disorders, References to Sex, References to Body-Image Issues, Offensive Humor.**

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He's All That

Ninten glares out the window in dead silence for the entirety of the drive back to his house. He's got all the conviction of a child when it comes to sulking, and even when I put on his favorite talk show host, the stoic look plastered on his face doesn't slacken.

"Oh man," I say, nudging Ninten's attention towards the radio segment playing. "I love when they do those phone-tap things."

"I've heard this one before. It's not that funny," Ninten says back curtly. I roll my eyes. He can be such a _girl_ sometimes.

Behind us, Lucas sucks on the mint lifesaver I gave him and runs his nails against the back of his hand. That crazy spark in his eyes has pretty much dissolved completely by now, and he's kind of looking more anxious than anything else.

With no chance of having a satisfying conversation with Ninten, I direct my small-talk to Lucas.

"So, Lucas, how'd you get your boss to let you leave?" I ask.

Lucas perks up upon hearing his name, like he's a puppy or something, and he grimaces. "Uh, actually my boss is my father. Our family bought out that liquor store when we moved here. I'm a pretty good kid. Dad knows I wouldn't cut work unless something was seriously wrong."

"And look at you now- betraying your father's good trust to go party like a self-respecting, no-good, irresponsible teenager," I laugh. It's a joke, but Lucas doesn't seem too amused with it. He gnaws on his lower lip and averts his eyes out the window.

"I still don't know what came over me," Lucas murmurs.

He's started to fidget again. If I look into my car's rearview, I can see his nails biting into the back of his hand. The skin there is red and dry.

Ninten's sour mood and Lucas' anxiety is really making this car's aura unpleasant, so I make it a point to keep my voice light.

"Look, dude, it's going to be _fun_. You do know what fun is, right?"

"I don't know if I like your kind of fun," Lucas frowns.

"Yeah, Ness, your brand of entertainment tends to catch people off-guard," Ninten sneers, shooting me his own patented _Stare-O'-Death._

"Wow, Ninten," I snap, "When you squint like that, I can hardly tell that you're half-white."

Ninten hits me hard, but I convert my wince into an obnoxious laugh before he can get the satisfaction of seeing me in pain.

It only takes us a shy ten minutes to arrive at Ninten's house. Ninten lives on a small street that extends a few miles out of town. I'm pretty sure his father bought the plot there just because it would guarantee them the biggest house on the block.

Ninten doesn't live like a Crosswright, but his place is undeniably pretty damn sweet. It's this two-story brick house with a double-driveway and a gated entrance. It looks like the kind of house you'd find in a wholesome 80's sitcom.

I park on the street. Ninten and I suck in our stomachs and slip between the bars of the front gate. It hardly occurs to us that Lucas isn't following behind us until we hear his voice.

"Uh, Ness?"

I turn around. Lucas stands on the other side of the closed gate, playing with his cuticles awkwardly.

"You can just slip through the bars," I say, "Ninten won't think you're being rude or anything. We do it all the time."

"That's… that's not exactly the issue," Lucas laughs and stares at his shoes.

I resist the urge to slap myself. "Oh, shit, sorry," I say, jogging back over to the gate to unlatch the lock. The black metal swings open and I gesture for Lucas to walk through. Lucas thanks me awkwardly and shoves his hands into his pockets as he passes me by.

"You have a nice house," Lucas hums as we near the front door.

"Yeah," Ninten agrees.

Ninten herds Lucas and I into his basement.

And I really do mean _his_ basement, and not his parents' basement. The entire downstairs is his domain. It's about as big as an apartment flat, and allows for Ninten to hole himself away for days without needing to breech the surface.

A big gaming station sits in the main den, along with a mini-fridge stocked with Name Brand water bottles and protein bars. A broken acoustic guitar sits in the corner (Ninten only keeps the thing around to take selfies with. Isn't that obnoxious?). From there, the hallway forks off between his room and a bathroom.

I head into Ninten's room out of habit, and crash onto his bed. Above me, I can see his shelf full of awards, ribbons, and his Prom King crown. They're shining brightly, illuminated by the natural light flooding in through the open window Ninten uses to sneak out of when he's past curfew. Lucas stands awkwardly to the side, biting his lip.

"Do you want anything to drink, Lucas?" Ninten asks with a cold politeness.

"No thank you," Lucas says.

"Right. One water, coming up," Ninten nods. He then turns to me, and like Princess Fiona after dark, his clinically hospitable gaze turns downright monstrous. "I'm calling Jeremy right now. Don't do a goddamned thing," he says, which is more or less code for- _"If you try to fuck on my bed in the three minutes that I'll be away, heads will roll."_

To which I nod and reply, "I wouldn't even think of it." – which is another code for, _"Dude, if I could get laid in just three minutes, I'd have like, seven major STD's by now."_

Ninten rolls his eyes at me and stalks away to call Jeremy.

"I didn't mean to cause this much trouble," Lucas murmurs. "Is he mad at me?"

"Nah- he's just being a whiny pissant," I say with a dismissive wave. "In either case, it's me he's got a problem with. Not you."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says.

"It's chill," I shrug.

We're both quiet after that.

For the first time in probably my entire life, I have nothing to say. My heart thumps in my chest like it's in a cage-match with the ribs holding it hostage, and I'm afraid that if I open my lips to speak, it might take that chance to make a grand escape out my throat.

Thankfully, Ninten returns by the fifth minute of our prolonged silence. He looks a little more relaxed, meaning that the conversation with Jeremy must've gone decently well.

"He's in?" I ask.

"He's in," Ninten confirms. "Jeremy's posting the updated blacklist to his Twitter as we speak. All we've gotta do is be there early to help him set up. And one more thing- Claus absolutely _cannot_ find out."

"That shouldn't be too much trouble," Lucas says. "Claus is taking my shift at the store tonight. He won't be home until midnight."

I sigh in relief. Honestly, this whole setup was a little out of my ordinary, because there were so many blank variables- but as per usual, it all worked out in the end.

"Perfect," Ninten says. He smiles a bit. "Now come here and let me have a look at you."

Lucas blinks. "Me?"

"You think I want to look at Ness' ugly-ass face? Yes, you."

Lucas casts me a sideways look before obeying Ninten's orders. His face is turning a lovely shade of red. Unfortunately, this sight brings me no pleasure. I feel an ugly twinge in my gut.

"Is there something wrong?" Lucas asks.

"Yeah," Ninten nods. "I really hope you weren't planning on going out in that."

Lucas grimaces. It's not as if he looks horrible in his work uniform, but Ninten has a point. Polos and khakis might be a look for Jake from State Farm, but they're definitely unsuitable for a high school event.

"What size are you? Medium? Large?" Ninten asks, eyeing Lucas up and down.

Lucas flushes. "I can fit into either," he says, adding quickly: "But this isn't necessary- we can just go back to my house and-,"

"Nope," Ninten shakes his head. "Paula Polestar wants to meet us at Boca's in half-an-hour. No time for that."

"Oh… okay," Lucas says. I always found it amusing how Ninten could get someone to disagree with him while nodding their head.

"Let me see here…" Ninten hums, touching Lucas' biceps and propping his arms up into a "T" position. Ninten's hands trace Lucas' shoulders before slipping down to his chest.

Lucas' eyes shoot open, and he shoves Ninten away. The poor boy is bright red.

"I'm sorry, but what are you _doing?_ "

"You're not quite suited for a muscle tee," Ninten deduces, "But I wouldn't put something too baggy on you, because there's definitely some definition there, and it'd be a shame to hide it."

I roll my eyes and let my head fall into the mattress.

Con of hanging out with a dude who thinks his bandana is the fashion statement of the century: the guy loves to play dress-up. I'm actually pained to admit that I'm one of his favorite models, because as he likes to put it, I look so unbearably plain that even a wife-beater would pop if I wore it.

In any case, Ninten hoards clothes like those crazy people on TLC hoard garbage.

Ninten turns to dig through his closet. Lucas sends me a distressed glance, and bites his lip. As if I need a gesture to know how uncomfortable he is.

It's not hard to tell that his appearance doesn't make a spotlight of the conversation often.

I mean, it's not like his body is particularly ugly or morbid or anything. He's a little taller than me, and he's got enough weight to make a gut out of, but frankly his burliness looks _right_ on him. Any skinnier, and he'd look sickly.

Ninten finally finds a shirt at the bottom of his clothes heap. "Here, dude. Throw this on." Ninten says, tossing a yellow tee and a pair of pale blue jeans to Lucas.

Lucas rubs the fabric between his fingers. "Uh, okay. Do you have a bathroom or anything?"

"What?" Ninten asks, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, yeah. To your left. But we're not gonna judge your or anything like that, though. Ness and I are off-season. It's not like our six-packs are looking too hot either."

"It's okay, thank you," Lucas says. "I'll be right back."

He turns on his heel and hurries to Ninten's bathroom, shutting and locking the door. The sound of a doorknob jiggling rings out as Lucas tests to make absolutely sure the door is locked. Ninten and I exchange a look.

Maybe it's because I'm an athlete or something, and I'm forced to share a room with a bunch of other guys when I change, but I'm not really put off by nakedness. I mean, being a guy attracted to other guys does a lot a weird things, but even that little affliction can't make getting wet-toweled by a nude football player arousing.

"Odd," Ninten muses.

"Come on, dude," I say. "The poor guy's in a room with two of the most athletic guys in his grade. If I were him, I wouldn't be too crazy about undressing either."

"I'm not judging him," Ninten frowns. There's a biding pause before Ninten adds, "You think he's got body issues?"

Of course he does. It's so plain that Lucas feels like an intruder in his own skin. But I don't say anything like that to Ninten. I just shrug.

Thankfully, Ninten doesn't press me for a verbal answer. He looks too lost in thought to worry about anything I might want to say.

See, Ninten had confessed to me about two years back that he used to be really crazy about his self-image at one point in his life. Apparently he was like, an out-of-control eater who would binge and purge constantly.

He stopped doing it for the most part in junior year after I caught him trying to make himself throw up in the staff bathrooms at school, but he admitted that he still felt like a fat-ass most of the time. Ninten was rarely the type to feel empathy for others, but even he had a soft spot for the unfortunate people at war with themselves.

Ninten breaks out of his trance as soon as Lucas comes back from the bathroom.

The yellow tee is a nice-fitting V-neck, but Lucas had adjusted the collar so that it awkwardly rode much further up his neck than necessary. The jeans sit on his hips just fine.

"Uh, it's…" Lucas shifts, linking his fingers together.

"It's not your color," Ninten says. He stands up and digs back around in his closet for another shirt. He reemerges with a thin white long-sleeve, and picks up one of his favorite black sweaters from the ground.

"Put this on first, and then this over it," Ninten instructs, handing Lucas the clothing. Lucas looks at the sweater with a strange sense of relief, and shuffles back to the bathroom to do as told.

"He's gonna sweat up a storm," I frown.

Ninten shakes his head. "The undershirt is breathable. If he's warm, he can take the sweater off."

"How come you never layer my clothing when you dress me up?" I tease.

"And ruin your waistline? Fuck that," Ninten says back with a grin.

"So you're not still pissed at me, are you?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm furious," Ninten shoots back. "But I'm glad you've at least got a decent taste in your bad decisions."

I laugh, but the noise is cut short when Lucas walks back into the room.

Okay, so you know that one scene in _She's All That_ in which Laney Boggs comes down the stairs after her makeover, and she's wearing this flattering red dress, and her love interest, Zack, is staring at her in awes silence like a slack-jawed idiot in love?

Yeah, that's kind of how this next scene goes down for me. Except Lucas isn't a girl, his red dress is a black sweater with Japanese characters printed over the chest, and a breathy _"hot damn"_ accidentally leaves my mouth.

Look, he's just really freaking attractive, okay? I know I keep marveling about him, and you're probably tired of reading my sorry gay monologues, but you've got to understand that this is the closest I've ever actually gotten to him. I mean, I used to catch glimpses of him when I was early to my aiding period with Mr. Fletcher, but it would only be a brief snapshot of his head buried in his work before the bell rang.

Now I actually get the luxury of _noticing_ things- like his strong squared jaw, or his soft pouty lips. And he's kind of this crazy Picasso of a dude, because he's got a bunch of contrasting features that really shouldn't work together, but just _do._

"Do I look alright?" Lucas asks. I nod, my face burning.

"You look perfect, man," Ninten assures with a bright smile and some new degree of warmth that hadn't been there moments before.

He claps Lucas on the back (which makes the poor kid flinch a little) and walks out. "I'm gonna call Paula and see if she needs picked up. You guys sit tight."

As soon as Ninten's out of earshot, Lucas breaks out into a wide smile. "Ness," he says.

"Yeah?" I say.

"Ninten's really nice," he says.

I roll my eyes. "He's actually a pretty big dick once you get to know him," I say.

Look, if you're worried that I'm some typical hyper-masculine jock who's going to be increasingly antagonistic towards my best friend for the remainder of this story just because Lucas seems to be attracted to him, rest assured that I have every intention to subvert that trope.

I mean, yeah, of course it bothers me that Lucas is getting high off of Ninten's Kool-Aid like every fucking girl he's ever met, but I know that Ninten will never reciprocate those feelings.

And I also know that Ninten doesn't mean to be unbearably attractive and charming. He just does it subconsciously because he needs the validation of his admirers to drown out that voice in his head telling him he's ugly.

Knowing this makes it easier to smile at Lucas, and keep my best face on.

"You do look really good, though," I say.

Lucas' ears go a red, and he smiles sheepishly. "You think? I don't usually wear this kind of stuff."

That part doesn't surprise me. From what I've seen, Lucas has a pretty basic algorithm for his daily appearance. It's something like: Shit + Shorts + Shoes = Good enough.

To contrast, if Ninten had an equation for his day-to-day outfits, it'd include quadratics.

"You should dress up more often," I suggest.

"Maybe I will," Lucas says, his eyes staring out at the doorway.

And I have over seven powerful urges to take Lucas right then and press our lips together, but I hold myself back. It takes all the willpower I've ever had, but I force myself to settle for a pat on the shoulder and a bright grin in reply.

Lucas smiles back, and my heart kind of explodes.


End file.
